


poor, poor love sick child

by adelaidebabe (soulless_slut)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adderall Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, BPD, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Borderline Personality Disorder, Character with BPD, Codependency, Drug Abuse, FP, Favorite Person, Friends to Lovers, Idealization, Jealousy, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Nogitsune Trauma, Obsessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pining, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sleepwalking, Slow Build, Splitting, Stiles Has BPD, Stiles Stilinski & Kira Yukimura Bromance, Stiles-centric, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Undiagnosed MI, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaguely AroAce Stiles, hashtag it me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 07:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12316626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_slut/pseuds/adelaidebabe
Summary: “He does it again, yelling at Lydia when she hasn’t done anything to really warrant it. She’s scared and logically he knows that he shouldn’t yell, shouldn’t be frustrated for whatever reason, but he can’t help it. If Lydia’s stumbling into dead bodies, she should alert them first, not the Sheriff’s department.It’s like some switch just flips inside of him, and then when it’s over, he’s left feeling empty.Horribly, horribly empty.”or: that teen wolf au where stiles has bpd — even though it's actually canon.





	poor, poor love sick child

**Author's Note:**

> i’m hesitant to tag this ‘unhealthy relationship’ because of the fact that stiles has a mental illness, but his thought process isn’t all that great and it’s very obsessive. please keep in mind that stiles is coded to have bpd, is acknowledged to have bpd (but undiagnosed), and scott is his FP (Favorite Person). honestly, this (stiles’s behavior and thoughts) is all pulled from my own experience. feel free to ask me any questions if you have them, but also know that google is usually faster than i am (unless, you know, it’s a personal question, which is totally okay, i promise).
> 
> this is canon divergent while also being canon compliant in some ways. meaning, i kept what i wanted, omitted what i didn’t want or didn’t see as relevant, and simultaneously takes place during the series while also not at all. you’ll see what i mean. it's a lot of canon retelling, so be prepared. title is from little whiskey by angus & julia stone and here is the playlist i wrote this to: [i'm everything and i’m nothing at all](https://8tracks.com/sccr982/i-m-everything-and-i-m-nothing-at-all-bpd-stiles)
> 
> last but not least, this should be roughly four chapters. a good majority of it is already written out, but as it's at 22k as i write this, i decided to split it up. it's also unbeta'd.

It started when they were ten.

At least, that’s when Stiles can remember thinking, _I love you_ with a pounding heart for the first time.

It wasn’t weird, though, to love Scott. To say he loved him. They were already telling each other at that point, the bond created when they met always strengthening. It didn’t matter that they were both boys and boys weren’t supposed to express their feelings.

They were best friends.

They were brothers.

Nothing else really mattered.

Until Scott got bitten by an Alpha and a new girl moved to Beacon Hills.

Don’t get him wrong; Stiles likes Allison. Mostly. Kind of. Well, okay, only a little, but that’s because he doesn’t know her. But he’s happy for Scott. Mostly. Kind of.

No, he really is. His best friend’s happy! He’s made first line, a girl likes him, and he’s a hellish creature of the night. Two out of three isn’t bad.

And Stiles is there with him every step of the way, researching and helping any way he can. Being supportive. Mostly. Kind of.

He’s trying.

He doesn’t know why he thinks it’s such a great idea to shoot lacrosse balls at Scott. Yeah, he said some words about helping Scott control the shift and learning his limits, but Stiles knows there has to better ways than physically abusing his best friend.

He still follows through with it, though, and he keeps a mantra of, “You idiot, you fucking idiot, you asshole, what is wrong with you, what the hell is wrong with you, Stiles? What the fuck?” as he rears back to lob another ball at Scott. He hates himself and he feels guilty and he feels like shit, but he can’t quite convince himself to _stop_.

While a normal person wouldn’t do it because you shouldn’t purposefully tick off a werewolf, Stiles knows Scott would never hurt him. He knows.

(Even if he wasn’t too sure after the lacrosse game.)

Scott would never hurt him, even if Stiles is pelting him with lacrosse balls, even if Stiles is still mad at him for a reason he’s not totally sure of anymore.

When Scott says, “There’s no balls flying at my face—” Stiles does his darndest to not smile, or crack a joke. He’s mad. He supposed to be mad. And sullen. And reluctant.

And then Scott’s heart is going crazy, beating faster and faster, and Stiles’s only concern is for Scott. Not that he might turn into a creature of the night and rip Stiles’s face off, but that he’s in pain, that he’s suffering. He doesn’t think it through, but he starts making his way toward Scott, his hand held out a little as he approaches.

But then Scott calms down and declares that Allison makes him weak. Stiles doesn’t agree but also knows that the prospect of Scott no longer seeing Allison is a nice one. They’ll be ScottandStiles again. He tries to tell himself that he doesn’t care how happy Allison makes Scott—they’ve only known each other for a couple days; Scott will live. All Stiles needs is Scott and all Scott needs is Stiles. Right?

Except Stiles isn’t the one sitting behind him in economics, Stiles isn’t the one who grabs his hand when he starts to wolf out because of Coach, Stiles isn’t the one to calm him down. In that moment, Stiles isn’t anyone.

Scott professes his totally amazing, totally surprising—except it’s not—love for Allison and Stiles tries to rein in the bitterness. Had tried not to sound bitter when he said, “I think she actually gives you control. She’s kind of like an anchor.”

Scott’s happy. He should be happy, too. At least happy for him.

All of a sudden, he’s mad again. Can feel the anger rising, choking him. But he hides it with a smile and throws his arm around Scott, covering it as a new way to help him.

He thought he’d feel less guilty because, this time, _he_ wasn’t the one hurting Scott. Not directly. And it really was to help him learn how to control the shift, how to use Allison to keep him human. But as he watches Scott get hit again and again, his stomach drops. He wants to throw up.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

After Harris breaks up the fight and carts them off to detention, Stiles begins to realize that he’s punishing the wrong person. He doesn’t want to punish Scott. Not really. Not the way he’s been doing it.

He wants to punish himself.

And it’s sick and it’s twisted and it’s despicable, but watching Scott get his ass beat _was_ a bit like a punishment for Stiles. Because all he could do was stand there and know it was his fault. Know that Scott’s right to not love him.

He doesn’t even know why Scott’s still willing to be his best friend after. Why he accepted what Stiles did and has forgiven him for it. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

(Stiles has never deserved him and now he knows that more than ever.)

After they survive being trapped in their school for half the night (and a raging, murderous Alpha werewolf, but priorities), Stiles is ecstatic. They _survived_. A terrifying, life-or-death situation; Stiles’s brain is flooding with excess adrenaline. But Scott won’t join him in the post-situation celebration, and instead confuses him with, “I have to get rid of my old pack.”

“What do you mean? What old pack?”

As Scott lists off their classmates, Stiles reigns in the urge to roll his eyes. Boo-hoo; bye Allison, bye Jackson. (Lydia’s a different story, a huge story that Stiles doesn’t like to get into. He likes her—almost close to the liking-Scott-levels of like—but it’s complicated.)

(And it’s always been easier to talk to Scott about Lydia than to pretend that there isn’t someone he’s interested in. And the more he would talk about her, the more he began to actually like her. Hence, complicated.)

And then Scott hesitates. And then he says, “You.”

Stiles is too busy thinking of the implications to worry about how fast, how hard his heart is beating. Because he hears what Scott was saying, he understands.

The Alpha wants Scott to kill his old pack.

The Alpha wants Scott to kill him.

The worst part, Stiles thinks, is not that Scott did actually want to when the Alpha forced him to shift. The worst part is that Stiles would let Scott kill him if it meant Scott would survive.

But that’s too terrifying a thought and Stiles pushes it down, out of sight, out of mind. He focuses more on how Scott leaves him to go comfort Allison and nurses the bitterness that slashes through his heart.

Scott runs out of class a couple days later, in the middle of a test, and Stiles follows him, unthinkingly. It’s not until he finds Scott’s backpack that he realizes he might not find human Scott, but werewolf Scott. Werewolf Scott who has a history of, well, of wanting to kill Stiles.

(Which is something Stiles completely deserves, but regardless.)

He still looks for Scott anyway because he’s his best friend and if something is going in, Stiles should know. He begins to hesitate again when he hears the running water in the locker room—nothing has ever sounded so ominous. But he perseveres and quite possibly lets out a sigh of relief when he comes across a very human, very shirtless Scott.

A shirtless Scott whose chest is now glistening.

Stiles keeps his focus on Scott, almost trying to distract both of them with the mention of panic attacks and his mom. Hoping against hope that Scott will shut up about Allison and his complete heartbreak; the girl’s a daughter of a freakin’ werewolf hunter—even if it worked out past this, it still wouldn’t work. And that’s not just Stiles’s jealousy talking. That’s his not-wanting-his-best-friend-to-die emotions talking.

And then everything’s turned upside down again later when Scott says, “I could practically smell the jealousy in there,” on their way out to the field for lacrosse practice.

Wait.

What?

Stiles stops him. “Wait. You smell jealousy?” He tries to remain blasé, act like that’s not a huge, game-changing _problem_ . If Scott can smell emotions, then what’s to stop him from smelling anything Stiles gives off? What’s to stop him from smelling _Stiles’s_ jealousy? Or. Or any other emotions and feelings that might be aimed toward Scott.

So, continuing to play it cool and totally unsuspecting, Stiles asks, “Can you pick up on stuff like, I don’t know…desire?” And then, very pointedly, he looks toward Lydia.

There. Problem solved. Scott will just think he’s thinking about Lydia if Stiles lets something slip.

(There’s always the off chance that he is actually thinking about Lydia, anyway.)

He gives in so much that he practically begs Scott to see if Lydia’s interested; if she’s not, whatever. He doesn’t have to deal with the crushing disappointment that she’s not who he’s created her to be.

But if she is (and Jackson is removed from the equation), awesome. If he can’t have one idealized relationship, he can have the other.

It’s a win-win.

You know, until Scott made out with her instead.

(He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Both of the people he’s crazy about getting together instead. Whatever. It’s what he deserves. He’s such an asshole, such a freakin’ fuck up. No wonder no one wants to be with him.)

Maybe that’s why he gave Scott the dog bowl.

God, he fucking hates himself.

Woo-hoo, he’s pissed at his best friend. So what? That doesn’t mean he gets to dehumanize him.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

(He asks himself that too often. You’d think he’d take a hint.)

Scott throws the dog bowl back at him and something in Stiles just _snaps_. He starts yelling, shouting, at Scott, calling him a dumbass and, “A son of a bitch, a freaking unbelievable piece of crap friend.”

It’s hilariously awful how hypocritical he’s being. And he _knows_ it. He _knows_. That’s the worst of it. But he just keeps thinking about Scott making out with Lydia, and the angrier he gets. A part of him knows that it has to be the full moon because this isn’t Scott; this isn’t who he is. He’s not cruel or mean on purpose. But the fact—

The fact that it happened is so appalling to Stiles that he’s taking it out on Scott.

He tries to ignore him when Scott carries on.

_This isn’t Scott._

But that’s what makes it worse.

It’s even harder to ignore him when he switches gears; switches from the Asshole Werewolf™ to the Victim Werewolf™ in an attempt to get Stiles to unlock the handcuffs. And Stiles wants to. Holy shit does he want to. Yes, he’s been a real dick to Scott since he was bit, but he doesn’t want him to suffer. And hearing him beg, hearing him plead and then cry out in pain is gut wrenching.

And then.

Silence.

And Scott is gone.

Of course he gets in his jeep to search for him. Scott is unpredictable right now and under the influence of the full moon. There’s the terrifying chance that he’ll actually kill someone tonight; that the Alpha will tell him to and Scott won’t be able to resist this time.

Instead of finding Scott, he finds the flashing lights of an ambulance and deputy cars. He pulls over and gets out, looking for his dad. He can’t help it. His first reaction, always, when he finds situations like this is, “Where’s my dad?”

Because what if it’s his dad that’s in the ambulance, what if it’s his dad that’s in the body bag?

Especially after Stiles’s introduction into the supernatural.

He feels his heart rate pick up when he doesn’t immediately see his dad, his breathing becoming labored and harsh, his mind racing. Seeing all the different awful scenarios, scenarios where his dad is dead. Scenarios where his dad is irrevocably, fatally injured and Stiles has to spend those last minutes with his father—just like he did with his mother. Scenarios where both his mom and dad are dead and he has to leave Beacon Hills, leave Scott, and go with the only family he has left: an aunt, he thinks, who still lives in Poland.

He’s panicking, he knows, feeling the beginnings of a panic attack. He sees the burned flesh on the arm—his dad’s arm?—and stops breathing. None of the deputies looked familiar and none of them are trying to offer words of comfort; could be either a good thing or a bad thing still. He doesn’t know.

Right when feels like he’s going to collapse, he hears his dad’s voice.

Instantly, all the different scenarios vanish as Stiles turns around and actually sees his dad; his very much alive, still in one piece, dad. He doesn’t even register that his dad asked him a question before he hugs him, his lungs finally expanding again in the comfort of his father’s arms.

His dad follows him home, obviously worried about him. Stiles doesn’t really blame him. Lying in bed, though, he keeps thinking about Scott, worrying about him. Did the Alpha find him? Did Derek? Did Scott kill someone or…did someone kill Scott?

He keeps checking his phone, hoping for something. A text that’s only a random letter, something to prove that Scott’s okay and he’s not mad at Stiles.

Jesus, he hopes Scott isn’t mad at him. Hopes Scott still wants to be his friend. Because what if he doesn’t? What if he’s fine, and he’s home, and he’s just not texting Stiles because he’s finally realized what an awful person Stiles is and he doesn’t want to be around that? What if Scott doesn’t care about him anymore, and it wasn’t the full moon talking. He was being a jerk because he was trying to push Stiles out of his life.

Stiles doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have Scott anymore. Scott’s been his best friend since he can remember, since they were practically still babies.

He checks his phone again.

Nothing.

With dread that feels like stone settling into his stomach, Stiles knows that that’s it. Scott’s done. He must be. He’ll have to find a new best friend. Only problem is that he knows no one will get him like Scott gets him. He won’t click with anyone the way he clicks with Scott.

Why did he have to fuck it up?

What the fuck is wrong with him?

He checks his phone again and then shoves it under his pillow, rolling onto his side, determined to not think about it anymore.

There’s a tap on his window that scares him shitless.

Stiles closes his eyes, bracing himself for when he turns to face it. He doesn’t want to. What if it’s Derek, here to kill him under the influence of the full moon? What if it’s the Alpha, here to kill him now that he doesn’t mean anything to Scott?

(There’s a terrifying little voice in the back of his head that says that that’s preferable. That he wouldn’t actually mind being dead now.)

But he does it.

He turns and faces the window, sucking in as much air as he can when he does so that if it is a serial killer, at least he can scream to warn his dad.

Instead of a scream, though, what he lets out is a totally manly squeak.

Because it’s not Derek. It’s not the Alpha.

It’s Scott.

Stress that Stiles wasn’t aware of leaks out of him, making him feel loose and drunk.

Scott’s here.

Scott must not hate him.

He gets up and unlocks the window, only to pause and say, “You’re not gonna maul me if I open this, right?”

Scott rolls his eyes.

Good enough.

After, they’re lying side-by-side on their backs on Stiles’s bed, almost touching. Stiles takes this also as reassurance that Scott doesn’t hate him; if Scott hated him, would he really be lying in bed with him?

“So what happened?” Stiles eventually asks.

Scott sighs. “Derek stopped me from killing Allison and Jackson. Told me that if I kill the Alpha, I might not be a werewolf anymore.”

“Dude!” Stiles says, excitedly. He shoots upward. “That’s awesome, right? I mean, not that killing someone is awesome, but not being a werewolf—that’s awesome.”

Scott smirks but doesn’t reply.

His eyes are closed, so Stiles doesn’t feel as creepy as he should watching him. Scott looks tired. Really tired. Stiles can see the stress in his face, the almost-bags below his eyes. Guilt naws at him.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” he says quietly, lying back down.

“For what?”

“For being a dick, for yelling at you, for giving you a dog bowl, for getting you beat up.” Stiles pauses. Exhales. “Hell, you name it and I’m sorry for it. I’ve been a real tool.”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “You have.” He’s smiling, though, like he appreciates what Stiles is trying to do. “I love you, dude.”

Stiles’s heart stutters. He hopes Scott’s too tired to really notice. “I love you, too, bro.”

Things even out after that.

Kind of.

As much as they can with Stiles having a best friend who’s a werewolf. And who’s in love with a completely unattainable girl.

(One part of that is a lot easier to deal with than the other part.)

(During the Retrieve Allison Argent’s Necklace Mission, Scott uses the word _psychotic_. Some part of Stiles twitches and recoils, a faint memory of one of his late-night Wikipedia binges pinging in familiarity. But Stiles ignores it and pushes on.)

The Alpha is Peter freaking Hale.

Peter “I’ve been stuck in a coma since the Hale Fire” Hale.

Peter “I killed my niece to be the Alpha” Hale.

It’s horrifying and awful, and even more horrifying and awful when Scott tells him that Derek has no plan to kill him.

Which, like, Stiles gets it. Last living family member. Whatever.

He feels like Peter lost that, though, when he killed Laura.

That’s just Stiles’s opinion.

He’s home the night after the Alpha reveal, and stumbles into his dad sifting through papers scattered on their dining room table. _Work_ papers. He offers to help, hoping to learn some of what his dad knows. Not just because it indirectly—directly?—affects him and Scott, but because he’s always had a fascination with his dad’s job.

When his dad tells him instead to just pour him some whiskey, Stiles overdoes it. At first, all he’s thinking about is loosening his dad’s lips, making him more willing to just open up and talk with Stiles about the case. It’s not like his dad is paying attention. But as he’s pouring, he begins to scold himself because he knows his dad has a problem with alcohol. Has had and continues to have. But even as he’s telling himself to stop, to put the bottle down, he just keeps pouring—right until the amber liquid is right below the rim.

He’s going to hell. He’s going to burn.

His dad finishes the glass in one.

Stiles thinks his dad knew that it was more than he asked for, but tried to convince himself that it couldn’t have been by finishing the whole glass without coming up for air. Instead, all he got was drunk.

Stiles is an awful, awful person.

But it does what he wanted it to and his dad talks to him. Opens up about the case, talking about what’s confusing him. When Stiles has all the information he knows he’s going to get out of his dad, he interrupts him, telling him that he has to make a call. He gets up from the table. He didn’t even register what his dad was talking about until he says, “And I miss your mom.”

Stiles freezes. Retroactively, he hears the beginning of his dad’s confession: “You know, I miss talking to you. It’s like we never have time. I do. I miss it. And I miss your mom.”

His throat feels like it’s closing. He knows he heard him right, but. “What’d you say?”

His dad grabs the bottle of Jack.

Stiles feels like he’s moving in slow motion, like he’s moving through water, but he’s able to stop his dad’s hand before it tips the Jack into his glass.

“Thanks.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything.

He can’t believe he did that. He can’t believe he almost started his dad on drinking again. He can’t believe what an awful son he’s been. Holy shit. Holy _shit_.

Stiles grabs the bottle and twists the cap back on, grabs the tumbler from the table to put it in the sink. He contemplates pouring the whiskey down the drain. In the end, he puts the bottle on top of the fridge. Sideways.

His small, halfhearted attempt at hiding it. Like he’s trying to hide what he did.

The guilt in his stomach is making him feel sick. He stands in the doorway to the dining room, just watching his dad. “You should go to bed,” he says eventually.

His dad nods, slow and lagging in that way drunk people have. “Yeah,” he agrees.

Stiles watches him get up, makes sure he’s steady on his feet. When his dad gets to the stairs, Stiles says, “I love you, Dad.”

It’s soft, it’s faint, it’s quiet, but Stiles hears it. “I love you, too, kid.” And then he hears his dad’s footsteps going up the stairs.

Stiles sighs and rubs his hand across his face. He’s the worst son to ever exist.

After that is just dance planning, with some wishful, “Please, Scott, just let Derek be dead,” thinking. Somehow Scott—or Allison? Or both?—gets Lydia to accept being his date. When he picks her up, she seems ready to insult the jeep, and he feels the beginnings of his anger burning right over his heart. They’re small embers and he’s hoping he can keep them under control.

But then Lydia changes her mind and doesn’t say anything, and they’re off.

The dance itself is almost this giant blur. He gets Lydia to dance with him—by yelling? Did she actually want to dance? Did he scare her into dancing?—but before and after is this giant mashed together mess.

(Wait. Did he seriously call her cold, call her lifeless?)

He remembers dancing with her because he remembers her rejection. He remembers her needing to find Jackson. Her looking for Jackson lead to the next part, which he vividly remembers, horrifyingly remembers.

Peter Hale showing up.

The Alpha.

Stiles remembers Peter attacking Lydia. He remembers Peter threatening Lydia to make Stiles help him find Derek.

So he does it. Woo-hoo, he’s a big team player (the threat of maiming and killing notwithstanding). He tries to negotiate—yeah, negotiate with a completely non-negotiable werewolf—that Peter leaves Scott alone. Spoilers of spoilers: he doesn’t agree. Instead, he has some insight on Stiles, and it’s kind of freaky how much a werewolf who’s been in a _coma_ knows about him.

(He doesn’t even want to know how much it’s going to cost to have to replace his keys. Honestly, fuck Peter.)

His heart picks up when Peter asks him if he wants the bite.

Because. Well. He doesn’t know. Part of him thinks that it would be cool, to have something that Scott has, to give them back some kind of connection.

But he doesn’t want to be connected to Peter. And he can’t help Scott if he’s going through the same things.

So he pulls back his wrist at the last minute and tries to ignore Peter’s tauntings as he leaves.

The dude’s a fucking nutjob, driven insane by the waking-coma experience. He doesn’t have any idea about anything. Stiles is happy being human.

Right?

Free from Peter, and worrying about Scott still taking up about half of his brain activity, he has room to think of someone else. Lydia.

He looks from his keys to his jeep, thinks about trying to hotwire it—despite, you know, never having done that before—before throwing his keys as hard as he can in frustration. He hears them clatter somewhere in the parking garage, but the noise doesn’t really register, sounding far off and echo-y. His vision swims and he needs to lean on his jeep so he doesn’t fall over.

He doesn’t have a vehicle. He has no way to reach Scott, and God knows if Jackson actually got Lydia to a hospital or if she’s okay.

There’s nothing he can do. He can’t even _breathe_.

He gasps a few times, trying to force air in, but his lungs won’t expand; he can feel his chest and ribs refusing to budge, refusing to listen to his brain as it screams at them. He tries to count but the numbers keep getting mixed up, and he keeps losing count.

Scott might die tonight because Stiles can’t get himself together long enough to breathe.

He bends over, keeping his lower back still pressed against the jeep to keep him steady, pressing his hands into his knees. Then he holds his breath.

His mind begins to clear and calm, and he counts.

_1._

_2._

_3._

_4._

_5._

_6._

_7._

_8._

_9._

_10._

And again, but he inhales the whole count to ten, even when he feels like can’t anymore, even when his breathe threatens to hitch again, even when his ribs feel like they’re going to compress again. And then he exhales, slowly, and keeps breathing out until he feels the oxygen leave his toes.

It’s like magic. His lungs continue to expand and Stiles tries to ignore how exhausted he is now, how fucking drained. His hands are shaking and so he opens his jeep (of course it’s unlocked) to grab his bottle of Adderall that he keeps in there. And even though he tells himself it’s because he needs the help to focus, he can’t help but feel like he’s lying to himself as he pops one back and swallows it dry.

He tosses the pill bottle back and locks the doors from the inside before shutting the door. He mentally calculates how long it’s going to take to get from here to the hospital, and then he runs.

His dad confirms what he’s been beginning to suspect. The Hale fire was arson. And he knows exactly who did it. It all feels so obvious that he almost can’t believe Chris friggin’ Argent is bothering to deny it. He’s the one with Stiles pressed against a wall in a threatening manner. Why the hell would Stiles lie?

But he guesses Chris was also denying it to himself all these years. Because after a moment, he caves. And Stiles and Jackson follow him to the Hale house.

It feels so climactic, like the big reveal in a mystery or the final battle between the villain and the hero. So he feels like he shouldn’t be surprised that when he gets there, it’s all over. Scott and Allison are in each other’s arms, Derek’s standing there with blood on his hands.

Stiles has never been the lead, even in his own life. This shouldn’t be a surprise. He’s not even the love interest.

He’s the wacky best friend-slash-comic relief to the protagonist. Scott. And that’s all he’ll ever be.

The hardest thing, Stiles thinks, after everything, is returning to school. Lydia’s still in the hospital, Scott and Allison are secretly dating, who knows whatever the fuck is going on with Jackson, and Stiles is expected to go back like a whole bunch of shit didn’t just go down.

(To be far, his dad doesn’t know. So there’s that.)

It’s hard, though, trying to get his mind to focus on something non-supernatural, now that Scott’s finally accepting who he is and getting the hang of it. So he doesn’t really need Stiles anymore.

Which is something he tries not to think about—mostly by visiting Lydia. So he tries not to think about Scott and Allison, and ScottandAllison, and spends overnights at the hospital, wanting to be there for Lydia. Now that Jackson’s out of the picture, maybe he can actually get his foot in the door so to speak. Being all heroic and self-sacrificing, sleeping in uncomfortable hospital chairs just to be there if she needs anything.

There’s gotta be some study about someone falling for someone else just because of pure exposure alone.

And so, naturally, Stiles isn’t outside of Lydia’s hospital room, but breaking a vending machine, when she screams.

And vanishes.

A round of applause for Prince Charming.

At least he’s there to help fill out his dad’s description of her.

(Strawberry blonde? _Really_? He heard Lydia refer to it like that _once_ in fourth grade.)

His dad tells him to go home. So, naturally, he calls Scott. He finds the fact that Scott heard Lydia’s scream, honestly, interesting. Allison’s house isn’t that close to the hospital; Scott’s werewolf hearing is good—but is it that good? And Lydia has a set of lungs on her, but was it really that loud?

Stiles feels almost excited, thinking about what to research, what to Google, figuring that it might have something to do with _pack dynamics_. The possibility of learning something not school related is awesome.

But that’s a tangent for another time, and he, Scott and Allison set off to find Lydia before the Argents do.

No one has any luck that night. Well, okay, that’s not fair; apparently Lydia had luck finding and eating some dead person’s liver. As he and Scott are discussing that tidbit before school, something occurs to Stiles. “Actually, wait, hold on,” he says, stopping Scott. “You’re the test case for this, so we should be going over what happened to you.”

“What do you mean?”

Without missing a beat, Stiles says, “I mean like what was going through your mind when you were turning? What were you drawn to?”

Scott hesitates. When Scott hesitates, nothing good follows. “Allison,” he admits with a half smile.

Jesus. All roads…. “Okay, nothing else? Seriously?” Stiles says, exasperated.

“Nothing else mattered.”

Stiles presses his lips together and does a kind of full body shake that was really meant to just be a nod. Of course. Naturally. No one matters except for Allison. Nothing and no one. Totally expected, totally unsurprisingly. Stiles should know better.

The rest of his day continues to suck. It doesn’t get better from there. It stays kind of static, up until detention with Harris in which it takes a steep nosedive. He has to fight the urge to punch Harris or to punch the lab table; he wants to throw his textbook at Harris for being a dick about his dad, but he also doesn’t really wanna make his situation worse. So as much as it pains him, the suffer in silence option it is.

But he can hear his blood pumping in his ears and his face feels hot; his hands are beginning to shake. He has to stretch them out and clench them into fists, and repeat, to regain control. His anger feels like it’s choking him, but a few breaths later, it’s manageable.

He stares at Harris for the remaining half hour.

He’d like to tell people that he found Lydia, but honestly, she found herself.

He’d also like to tell people that he was totally suave and impressive, giving her his father’s jacket, but that would also be a lie. He may or may not have face-planted. Not that it matters.

All that matters is that Lydia is safe again and not in the evil clutches of the evil Argents. Because, boy oh boy, they are _evil_.

(He’s not sure if he counts Allison with them and their evilness. First instinct, surprisingly, is no. She cares about Lydia, her best friend, and she legitimately cares about Scott, fur and all. But she’s still an Argent. Stiles is likely to believe that there’s some deep, ingrained DNA or something that pushes them to hunting.

Allison’s probably got that in her. He really doesn’t need her turning on Scott—again—later on and breaking his heart—again.)

Evil Argents are _super fucking evil_ , especially after what Scott told him about them killing the Omega. Like, honestly, that old, geriatric Argent is going to have to go through Stiles if he wants to get his hands on Scott.

But Stiles has more pressing matters coming up, like the full moon and the new werewolf and Isaac Lahey’s possible-kinda arrest, and Scott insinuating just how _good_ things are with Allison.

(One of these things is not like the other.)

(He’s glad that he got Scott to shut up about it, he only wishes it had happened _quicker_.)

Oh, and also that Gerard freaking Argent is somehow the principal.

Seriously, what? _How_?

Harris keeps him overtime for detention again so Stiles misses a few calls and texts from Allison. Which is kind of weird. Like, not completely-out-of-the-realm-of-possibly weird, but she-usually-doesn’t-quadruple-text weird.

Finding out that the Argents plan to kill Isaac, though, well that warrants quadruple texting from the girlfriend to the best friend. So they think up a plan to stall the hunter so Stiles has time to, after calling Scott and hearing his (bad) plan, pick up Derek and get Isaac out of there. _Before_ the hunter shows up.

(In a perfect world, it would’ve worked. But this is Stiles’s world, with werewolves and hunters and unrequited emotions and dead family and, well, the point’s been made.)

Therefore: they don’t beat the hunter there; Stiles thinks the hunter’s going to kill him; Isaac’s already out of his cell; Isaac possibly kills the hunter; Stiles thinks Isaac’s going to kill him; and Derek saves the day.

Fuck Derek Hale, but also, after that, _fuck_ Derek Hale.

He still gets in trouble with his dad. Because, you know, it’s his world.

Also because, yes, it’s kinda-sorta suspicious that a guy wearing a Sheriff’s deputy uniform is knocked out with Stiles standing in the middle of the room, and Isaac Lahey is gone. And even though Stiles _did_ have something to do with it, he still says, after his dad meets him back home, “You can’t honestly think I had something to do with all that? I just wanted to go talk to Isaac, it looked like that when I got there.”

“Stiles,” his dad says, his fingers pressed into his eyes, exasperation clear in the lines of his face and his voice. Stiles feels a twinge a guilt that he tries to push away. “The first thing you said when we got there was, ‘He did it.’ Now you’re telling me you stumbled into that scene?”

Stiles’s mouth works but he can’t think of what to say. “I was nervous?” he drags out.

His dad sighs. “I’m going to bed. Figure out which truth you want me to believe and then let me know.”

The twinge disappears to be replaced with tsunami of guilt as Stiles watches his dad walk away and, presumably, upstairs.

Just. Fucking. Great.

It takes him a while to fall asleep that night. But he manages to, and then he manages to wake up and get out of the house before his dad does. He doesn’t want to lie to him again and he doesn’t really want to see him, either. Not when he can’t look him in the eye without feeling like shit.

So Stiles drives off and then parks on some back road. It’s too early to go to school, and he doesn’t want to look like a total loser by sitting in the parking lot. Wherever he is now, this is fine. It’ll work. He puts in one of his mix CDs that he has to make because when he upgraded the jeep’s radio, he didn’t get one with an AUX port. And then he waits, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

He begins to doze a little when time doesn’t pass as quickly as he thought it would, the music soothing. He keeps a tired eye on the jeep’s clock, and ten minutes before the time he was planning on leaving for school, his phone beeps with a text from Scott.

Waaaaaaaaaaaanna gimme a ride? :D [from scott; 7:32 am]

He can’t stop from smiling and doesn’t even try.

be there in 5 [to scott; 7:34 am]

Stiles tells himself not to ask because he doesn’t want to know, but he suspects that him picking up Scott means that Allison can’t for once. Usually, she picks him up and then drops him off on the road behind the school so that whatever Argent spy is around doesn’t see her with him. It stings a little, being the second choice, but if Stiles doesn’t think about it, everything is fine.

Completely fine.

It feels like it’s going to, finally, be a normal day—but then Erica comes back to school only to show everyone her makeover for point two seconds before driving back off with Derek. Stiles feels like the show was less for the student body and more Derek trying to make a point to Scott. It just feels wholly unnecessary.

(He _also_ has to cough up thirty more dollars than he wanted to to get the ice rink keys from Boyd. Wholly unnecessary.)

The ice skating double date seemed perfect to Stiles. Scott and Allison get to be nauseating and he gets to impress Lydia. Except the latter never happens, and instead Lydia makes him acknowledge how cute Scott and Allison are (something he was trying so very hard to get his mind off of) and then has a complete freak out on the ice.

Zero out of ten, never would do again.

(He’s destined to be alone forever.)

(No, he’s not being melodramatic.)

He tries to ask her about it, but after she incoherently mumbles a couple of words, she seems to come back to herself and snaps at Stiles to leave it, and her, alone. And then she and Allison leave.

The next day, Boyd is missing. And there’s only really one obvious answer to where he is.

Which then leads into another one of Stiles’s Greatest Moments™: “And I also gotta say this newfound heroism is making me very attracted to you.” He spits it out so fast like his mouth wants to say it before his brain can realize how utterly _stupid_ it is and shut him up.

“Shut up,” Scott says with a small laugh.

“No, seriously.” Stiles puts his hand on Scott’s shoulder, completely unaware where any of this confidence came from. But then Scott looks at him and even though Stiles can’t stop himself from saying it, he thinks he manages making it sound like a joke. “Do you wanna just try making out for a sec?” Even though it’s not a joke. “Just to see how it feels!”

(He tries to ignore the fact that Scott began to push him forward before Stiles said the words ‘making out’. As if he knew where Stiles was going with it. As if Stiles’s feelings are completely obvious. He tries to ignore it. He tries.)

He’s accosted by Erica, who he definitely isn’t attracted to. Okay, maybe a little. Probably because after the bite, she’s intimidating in a Lydia-way.

(Or maybe he’s got a weird fetish for werewolves now that he knows they exist. Like his dad says: One’s an incident, two’s a coincidence, and three’s a pattern.)

But then she damages his jeep _and_ whacks him in the head with a piece of his jeep.

Fucking bitch.

Worse than that, though, is the next night when he has to watch the jerkoff mechanic die. The feeling is terrifying, first not being able to move his fingers and then his entire body not listening as his brain is screaming, _Get up! Move! You can’t just lie here, you’re going to die!_

But no matter how much screaming, no matter how much he just wants his fingers to twitch, to show he still has control over his body, nothing happens. His body falls and he can’t do anything as the whatever-the-fuck creature kills the mechanic.

It’s _terrifying_.

And as much as he thinks the creature is going to kill him, it doesn’t. It leaves him alone for the most part.

He wishes that made him feel better.

The feeling is back in most parts of his body other than the hand that touched the disgusting whatever on the door handle by the time his dad and the Sheriff’s department shows up. He keeps shaking out his hand, rubbing it, hoping that that’ll fix it.

The conversation he has with his dad just feels like a repeat of the night of the full moon; Stiles claiming he wasn’t anywhere near the garage when it actually happened, that he only stumbled into the mess.

It cuts deeper than it should when he can tell that his dad actually believes him.

He hates lying to him.

He has to call Scott to pick him up because his jeep, apparently, has enough blood splatter on it to count as evidence. But it’s just as well because now he can talk to Scott about it without having to wait for him to detangle himself from Allison.

And having Scott ask him, “You okay?” is just a surprising added bonus, making him feel almost warm at Scott’s concern.

They end up sitting in Stiles’s driveway, talking about The Thing, until Stiles’s dad gets home.

It’s a good feeling, having Scott around for one night.

Especially because the next day is filled with him having to race back and forth between Scott and Allison, trying to communicate for them since things seem to be getting riskier and riskier.

He feels like he’s hit his limit, though, when he has to look Scott in the eyes, Scott with his soft and loving face, and actually say the words, “I love you.” And he has to try to ignore Scott’s face because he knows any expression he’s making is Scott imagining those words coming from Allison. Not Stiles, of course.

He really wishes the Argents would get their shit together. Because he hates having to play this weird version of telephone.

Still, the three of them plan to steal the keys from Gerard Argent to try to steal the bestiary (not freakin’ bestiality, Jesus Christ) so they can figure out what this scaly son of a bitch is.

He’s also really itching to find out _who_ it is, but one step at a time.

He’s hoping, per usual, for an uneventful night, but of course he doesn’t get what he wants. After possibly blowing his chances with Lydia and then being manhandled by Erica, of course the freakass creature paralyzes Derek and then traps them in the pool. So not only does he have to keep himself alive and hope that The Thing doesn’t decide to swim, he has to hold Derek up which is damn near impossible.

And not just because the dude’s full werewolf muscle mass.

And then Scott hangs up on him because, _quelle surprise_ , he’s busy and doesn’t have time to deal with Stiles’s problem.

(Finding out he was literally in the hunter’s den and breaking into Gerard Argent’s safe makes Stiles feel guilty for his brief anger.)

It’s fine. Except that he’s damaged another one of his belongings, and he’s not sure if leaving it in rice is going to fix the problem.

Kanima. They have the name of the creature, and Stiles has a copy of the bestiary that’s going to take many sleepless nights to try to translate.

It sounds _awesome_. No, seriously.

When he gets home, despite how exhausted his body is, he pops an adderall, pulls up Google Chrome, types in _Kanima_ , and gets to work.

It hits him, around four a.m., as he blinks his dry eyes and contemplates either taking a two hour nap before school or just staying up, that he _completely_ blew off Lydia. He knew he hadn’t given a good impression, telling her she was beautiful when she cried and then leaving, but he had said he’d come back and he hadn’t. Sure, he’d had a reason, but it wasn’t like Lydia knew that. Or could know that. Ever.

So that’s great.

He decides on the two hour nap and figures he’ll just double up on the Adderall before school.

When he gets to school, his dad tells him that Isaac’s _back_ at school, and Stiles at a loss to describe how very bad—very, very bad—things are.

He tells Scott what he can about what the internet says about Kanimas, but it doesn’t seem to be much help. And Scott isn’t much help either, feeling the need to remind him that, hey, the freaky creature probably still wants to kill him and won’t stop until it does.

Fun.

So Derek and his groupies think that Lydia’s the Kanima, and then when she doesn’t lie down horizontal and frozen in chemistry, they decide that they can kill her.

Stiles just wants to know who made Derek Hale God.

Going all ‘protection detail’ on Lydia doesn’t work out completely like they wanted it to, but she stays safe and they find out the real identity of the Kanima so. A good day, honestly.

There’s so much going on, so much they have to do because Scott needs to save everyone, that Stiles feels almost like he’s running on some form of autopilot for a lot of it. Doing what Scott needs him to do, following what Scott tells him to do, worrying only vaguely about Lydia when he can. He just wants it to slow down, if only for a minute, so he can lie down. Take a nap. Relax, without worrying that Jackson is going to kill the whole town.

His days are all screwed up that he doesn’t even know if he’s on his proper medication schedule, but he knows he’s taking too much of it regardless, knocking back another pill whenever he starts to lose focus. It’s life or death; he doesn’t have a choice.

Everything is so blurred together, days bleeding into nights and nights bleeding into weeks, that the next thing Stiles really knows is he’s winning a lacrosse game because of Lydia, and then he’s getting kidnapped and the shit beat out of him by the eldest and oldest grandfather of the Argent clan.

(He vaguely remembers hallucinating at Lydia’s birthday party. Remembers seeing his father in all black, drunk, carrying around a bottle of whiskey and spitting back everything Stiles has ever thought about himself. Not fun.)

He hates that he can’t exactly hold his own against someone twice, triple his age, but he tells himself it’s because of his surprise at seeing Boyd and Erica, and then suprise again when Gerard punched him without so much as a vocal warning. If he was prepared, maybe things would have been different.

Not likely.

But maybe.

But things aren’t different and he gets his ass handed to him, and the whole time all he can think is, _Why hasn’t Scott found me yet? Where is Scott?_

After what couldn’t have been more than a half hour—hell, it was probably only ten minutes—of just being punched over and over again in the face, Stiles is told, essentially, goodbye and go home. His entire face is burning, but nothing feels broken. Just roughed up, surface wounds, meant to look worse than it is.

They’re hoping he’ll go to Scott. They’re hoping to force Scott’s hand to do something in retribution for this.

Stiles is big on disappointing people.

He goes home, and doesn’t call Scott. When it comes down to it, he’s fine. That’s all that matters.

He lets his dad comfort him; not for long, but just long enough. The hug settles something in his chest that he hadn’t noticed had been unsettled.

Stiles asks to be left alone (no he’s not throwing himself a pity party, please). His dad lets him know that he’s going to text Scott for him, and that he’ll be right downstairs. It doesn’t feel like their relationship is fixed, exactly, but it feels better than it has in a while.

Lydia Martin in his bedroom feels like a dream come true.

And then he flips out on her. He doesn’t totally realize that he’s been shouting until she’s backing away from him, her eyes wide, lower lip trembling.

Stiles backs up. His mouth opens, but his brain, for once, is quiet. “I’m so sorry,” he says, but it feels empty. _He_ feels empty.

Lydia leaves, and Stiles doesn’t try to chase after her. It almost doesn’t even feel like his fight anymore.

His dad calls him a hero and, at first, all it does is make him feel worse. Because he’s not. He knows he’s not. The entirety of the supernatural community knows he’s not.

Scott’s the hero.

Allison’s the love interest.

Derek’s the mentor.

Lydia’s the intellect.

Stiles is the goofy sidekick at best. It’s all he’ll ever be. He’s already learned that and come to terms with it.

(Sort of.)

But then he just keeps hearing his dad say it over and over again, “You were a hero.”

“You were a hero.”

“You were a hero.”

“You were a hero.”

Stiles scrambles up, grabs his phone and his keys, and dials Lydia’s number as he rushes out of the house. Maybe he’s not the hero of the whole story.

But he can be the hero for a small segment.

Which is how he finds himself crashing into Jackson, late to the party as always. But still! He crashed into Jackson! Sure, he only knocked him down for a second, but, hey!

 _He did something_.

But then it’s like karma can’t let him have one good thing, so he has to watch Lydia and Jackson confess their love for each other one last time.

Awesome.

He runs over the bad guy and all he has to show for it is a damaged jeep.

Awesome.

**Author's Note:**

> idk why i use stiles as a self insert but whatcha gonna do. hate it, love it, neutral? lemme know. i'm on tumblr @ [lydiacora](http://lydiacora.tumblr.com). the post to reblog this fic (which comes with a picspam) is [here](http://lydiacora.tumblr.com/post/166224007600/teen-wolf-au-stiles-has-bpd-except-its). there's an honorable mention playlist on spotify [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/sccr982/playlist/008LaXEtN3YSsdq52iLA3q) (and also the regular playlist also on spotify [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/sccr982/playlist/6MgtXkqL6utwTiWnN3ZtPr) if you don't want 8tracks).
> 
> i've been having problems with archive, but i really wanted to post this so #yikes.


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